Empathic Clotpole
by Miss Faber
Summary: In which Arthur is assuming, Merlin is audacious, and an odd understanding ensues. They're two halves of the same coin. A one-shot Valentine's Day dedication to Merthur.


_A/N: _My first Merthur drabble. I adore these two, but writing them kind of scares me. Anyway, for V-Day I decided to conquer that fear. Hope you enjoy! Please review :)

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**Empathic Clotpole**

There was something exquisitely tragic in the whole affair, an almost poetic sort of injustice, in the fact that Arthur supposed that _he_, Merlin, wouldn't be able to understand what it was like to do something entirely selfless and watch someone else take the credit.

"You'll never understand what that's like, Merlin," Arthur proclaimed, shaking his head as he walked, as though no other state of being could possibly be the truth.

Despite the things he allowed Arthur to say to him, both because of his standing as a prince and because of the oddly natural friendship that had grown between them, Merlin found that he was offended. He was usually alright with others taking the credit for things he did. In fact, he often gave the credit to Arthur himself. It was part of his job, part of his destiny. But this- this misinterpretation of his character, riddled with insult and belittlement- he didn't want to let this pass.

"You don't know that," was all Merlin thought of saying.

Arthur scoffed. "Yes, I do."

Merlin mocked him with an exaggerated echo of his scoff. He enjoyed the way Arthur's eyes narrowed at that. "Well, you're rather-"

Merlin grunted as Arthur clapped him on the head. "_Don't_ say a clotpole."

Face scrunched up in a wince, Merlin reached up to rub at the back of his head. "For someone so _supercilious_, you tend not to be grammatically correct. A 'rather clotpole'?"

Arthur's mouth fell open incredulously, causing Merlin to laugh. "Grammatically correct? It's not even a real word! How am I supposed to be grammatically correct about a _made-up word_?"

Merlin sighed. "Well, you're the great, empathic prince. You tell me."

Despite his eyes narrowing, Arthur adopted a self-satisfied expression. "I am empathic, aren't I?"

"For a pompous clotpole, maybe."

Merlin closed his eyes and squared his shoulders, expecting a clap on the head or some sort of shove, but nothing came. He opened his eyes a moment later, finding Arthur standing a few faces behind him, his eyes scrutinizing him.

Merlin swallowed; he knew that look. It meant that once again, Merlin had given too much away, and Arthur was about to force some sort of confession out of him. Merlin didn't mind these episodes for the obvious reason, because Arthur never actually gleaned the truth of Merlin's concern. No, Merlin was an expert at lying to Arthur when it was for his own benefit, and it was _that_ particular aspect of it- the lying, the resisting and then eventually stating a half-true confession- that Merlin hated.

"What is it?"

Merlin feigned ignorance. "What's what?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "What's bothering you, that's what. For all your shortcomings as a servant, the one thing you do acceptably is tell me what a great king I'm going to be."

When Merlin said nothing, Arthur went on. "'You're going to be a better king than your father'. It's practically your slogan. In fact, I think that sort of talk could be interpreted as treason. I should have you executed."

"Haha."

Merlin had begun to walk again, and he started as half of Arthur's bulk crashed into him. He stumbled, but Arthur's arm righted him; as soon as he was steady, Arthur released his grip on his arm. He didn't, however, release Merlin from his steady stare. "Tell me."

It was only in these moments that they were truly equals, Merlin thought, despite what everyone else said. People like Gaius and his mother, who insinuated that, despite the obvious, Merlin and Arthur were one and the same didn't know what they were talking about. They were hazarding guesses; they had never seen Arthur as he was now, in these private moments where he shed his royal skin and became another boy, a friend. Merlin steeled his nerves. He certainly didn't have to tell Arthur everything, but he didn't have to lie either. For once, he didn't _want_ to lie.

"Despite what you seem to think about me, I can imagine what that's like. I've- don't laugh- I've done things for people that I didn't have to do, and I've let others take the credit for it. I've hid my emotions so that I could be of service. I…" His throat trembled. He'd said too much. "Basically, I can imagine what that's like."

For a moment, the air between them hung still. Then Arthur disrupted this small moment of truth with a raucous laugh, clapped Merlin on the shoulder, and began to walk forward. Merlin stared after him, stunned.

"What? Don't you believe me?"

Arthur glanced back and, apparently unaffected by Merlin's distress, chuckled and continued walking. "Please, Merlin. You doing things for people that you didn't have to do? I have to beg you to muck out my horses, and that's your job!"

Merlin felt a tide rise within him. Fuming, he stomped forward until he was level with Arthur. "Yes. I have. I've helped people who didn't ask it of me, who I didn't owe it to them- Lancelot, Morgana, Gwen, Uther, _you_. I have. I did. And you only think I'm such an idiot because I've let others take the credit. It proves-"

Arthur had shaken his head and begun to walk away, but Merlin reached out and grabbed him by the shirt collar. Arthur's eyes flew open in surprise at this new audacity, then darkened in anger. And that was the moment when Merlin exploded, suddenly struck by what an _insensitive clotpole_ this prince was.

"Did you know that the girl I love _died_ last year? Did you know that?" Merlin's voice was louder than he had ever allowed it to go; he was almost screaming. "Did you know that I had to get rid.. _take_ _care_ of her body? Did you know that I even loved a girl?"

Merlin swallowed back tears. He didn't mention the death of his father; that pain was still too near, too raw. But the image of the sprawled, lifeless Balinor burned in his mind's eye, and suddenly it seemed impossible that he would not cry. Somehow, he managed it. "And I.. I allowed you to think that I was upset because you'd insulted me in one of your ways, one time."

His voice was a rasp now. His throat hurt. He looked at Arthur with contempt for the first time in his life. "You probably don't even remember what it was you'd done that time. You don't."

With that, his throat and eyes burning, Merlin began to quickly walk away. He breathed raggedly as his mind began to process the consequences of his outburst. For his insolence, he'd probably be executed. At the very best, Arthur would punish him severely and then never speak to him as a friend again. Inwardly, Merlin sighed. He hadn't revealed his abilities, but this was still what Gaius had warned him against. Whatever happened, everything would be different now.

"Merlin?"

Merlin didn't turn, despite the fact that Arthur's subdued tone pointed to a not-so-violent reaction. It was when two timid fingers tapped him on the shoulder that Merlin stopped, and then Arthur was standing in front of him, his eyes trained on the ground.

"I'm sorry." Arthur's voice was hoarse, as though he was the one who had been near tears. When he looked up, his eyes were wide, bewildered. "I didn't know. I had no idea. I'm sorry."

Arthur tried to smile. It didn't work. He lifted his arms, and then- clumsily, impossibly- Prince Arthur Pendragon leaned in for a hug.

Merlin was too shocked to do anything except fractionally leaning in, letting Arthur's hands awkwardly pat his rigid back once, twice. It seemed a solid minute before Arthur pulled away. Later, upon reflection, Merlin would deem this impossible, surely a figment of his imagination. He remembered Arthur's extreme reaction when Merlin had tried to hug him. There was certainly no way that hug-o-phobic Arthur had hugged him for a minute; the embrace had probably only lasted a few seconds, despite what it seemed.

When Arthur did pull away, he quickly took a step back and breathed out, as though accomplishing some physically exerting feat. He quickly turned and continued walking, and as soon as Merlin gathered his scattered wits, he followed.

They didn't say much for the majority of the remainder of their walk, content to walk in silence. As they neared the castle, and a few guards caught sight of them, Arthur suddenly spoke, as though utilizing the last few seconds they'd have alone together.

"I do remember." When Merlin said nothing, he went on. "I remember that time, I think. I threw water on you."

Something inside Merlin melted, and he knew that he'd already forgiven Arthur, despite never intending to.

"Who was she?"

Merlin avoided Arthur's eyes. "It doesn't matter. She's gone."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said again, a final plea.

"Yeah." Merlin looked ahead of him, and saw in his peripheral vision that Arthur was doing the same. "You are… empathic," he mumbled. "Slightly."

Arthur couldn't hold back a small smile. It wasn't exactly an acceptance of his apology, but it was something.


End file.
